


to fall enraptured

by beebuzz



Series: the ocean's moon [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Akaashi Keiji, Collars, Dom Akaashi Keiji, Edging, Finger Sucking, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Sex Toys, Sub Miya Osamu, Top Miya Osamu, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebuzz/pseuds/beebuzz
Summary: Outside of these nights, Akaashi moves like an afterthought, always pressing himself into walls or trailing right behind people so as to take up as little space as possible. But when they’re alone and there’s nowhere to hide- noreasonto hide, he glows. His presence has always been distracting, but when he strips himself of everything that he uses to make himself small and deliberately forgettable, Osamu finds himself enthralled.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Series: the ocean's moon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210298
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	to fall enraptured

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I always start by saying “just a quick fic this time, I promise” and I end up with over 8k of gratuitous smut with a small semblance of underlying plot. Here we go again

During times like these, Osamu feels like a powder keg that’s had its fuse lit and snuffed out over and over and _over_ again until he’s all but cracking apart. Always on the very brink of exploding. 

He can almost taste the gunpowder on his tongue with each heaving breath. His vision clouds like there’s smoke filling the air, his nose, his lungs. He can’t tell if he’s dizzy or hyperaware, lolling somewhere between incoherence and agonizing lucidity with every spark and stamp of the flame. 

Things don’t end up like this every time; but if they do, it’s always harder to focus when he can’t move much. With every added bit of immobility, his head seems to grow heavier, cloudier, until he’s not sure of much past what his body feels. And right now, it feels like the harsh static of a limb falling asleep and slowly coming back to feeling. That touch-sensitive stinging all over that grates against the ropes digging into his skin. One bundle wrapped to keep his arms stuck behind his back, tied together from bicep to wrist. The other, woven and tight around crossed legs making the strain in his knees futile and tiring. 

Propped up to sit against the pillows, there’s a sharp ache working its way from the bend of his neck where a collar prods against his hammering pulse- it goes further down the hunch of his spine- around the quiver of his thighs and the clench of his stomach- all the way up into the tip of his cock staring angrily back at him from where it’s peeking out of the open-ended sleeve Akaashi’s got him caught in. 

It’s not the first time they’ve used it. A palm-sized, _evil_ little hunk of silicone that’s as effective as it is infuriating.

When his breathing levels out into winded huffs down at his lap, Akaashi’s hand flexes. A horrible squelch escapes from the squished toy just before Osamu’s covering it with a wheeze.

“Again.”

 _Again,_ Akaashi demands like he hasn’t already said it a dozen times.

It’s always _again again again_ with him _-_ cruel and relentless- it makes Osamu wonder who really gets off more on the unwarranted lengths this goes to.

“ _No._ ” Osamu counters, teeth coming out and shoulders squaring as a poor attempt of posturing.

It wasn’t a question. And he doesn’t really have a choice.

He _does_. But not one he truly cares to implement.

He wants to come. He doesn’t want to _stop_.

“You know arguing only makes it worse.” Akaashi’s hand has twisted back down to the base of his dick and it stays there while his fingers squeeze between every few words. It makes Osamu throb. His feet curl where they’re trapped under his thighs. His hands pull at the knots keeping them bound. “And you also know I can hold out far longer than you.” 

Holding himself back, if only for a moment, Osamu’s jaw grinds to keep any remark locked behind his lips.

Silence drips on until Akaashi’s hand starts to move and slide over his cock to fill the quiet with slick, vulgar sounds. Long since giving any subtlety or forgiveness- now, each time Akaashi starts up, it’s immediately more than enough. If anything, it’s been too much for too long and now there’s not even time for a come down. Osamu’s stuck on the edge even in the lull when everything settles.

But he tries. Tries to stay still and calm because he has to. Because he _wants_ to. He tries to be good and follow every part of Akaashi’s tangled will; but there’s always something that slips and triggers the claws to tighten around him again. This time, it’s his eyes. They’ve scrunched shut. He doesn’t remember when that happened, but then there’s a clench of the toy just beneath his crown that has his head tipping back, his mouth opening around a groan. And without the view of his bedroom’s ceiling, he realizes his eyes are closed tight enough that the black behind his lids is going a little splotchy.

Realizes it a split second before there’s a jingle of metal and the catch of padded leather against the back of his neck. While his head is jerked down by a rough yank to his collar, it’s a mere reflex that his eyes open wide. The leash wrapped up in Akaashi’s fist is taut, keeping the stiff material pressing into his nape.

Osamu’s gaze cuts up to meet the swell of raging deepsea blue head on. The open water of Akaashi’s eyes is threatening and dark, but oh, how he loves to drown in it.

“Look down or look at me. That’s it.” The twist of Akaashi’s wrist tugs the leash and makes Osamu’s entire body sway like a wave. “How many times do I have to remind you?”

“Dunno, how many’s that?”

He’s pushing his luck. They’ve already been at it longer than he can keep track of. There’s a good amount of sweat building up where his limbs are stuck, bent and trapped beneath deep red binds. But Osamu can’t help himself. As much as he wants to cooperate, there’s an equal amount of him that wants to break down every beautifully crafted line of Akaashi’s poise.

It’s working. Ever so slowly.

It shows in the way Akaashi’s lips just barely twitch into a purse. His chin, tilted up. Long, graceful neck, stretched to stare down at him. Face, passively open but without any chance of being read. Most would assume this look is littered with apathy. A displeased irritation ready to get this over with and wash his hands of it. 

But it isn’t anywhere close to that.

It’s enthrallment.

It’s a narrow-eyed devourment. The bird watching a mouse squirm beneath its talons.

Osamu is eager to squirm as long as he’s breathing.

Because squirming is fighting and he having to fight for so many things. But it’s getting harder with every glide up and down his cock. To keep from closing his eyes again. To keep from complaining and babbling and begging. To keep from coming into the sticky squish of the sleeve.

“To think you get this desperate for a measly toy.” 

A strangled whine slips from his lips without a thought to stop it. He’s trying to focus on too many things to keep his throat tight enough to swallow the sounds back down. The pressure seeping into his gut is deep and hot. It thrums and builds and Akaashi sounds so _disappointed._ It’s not real- Osamu knows that. Akaashi always does this. Spits mean words at him until it dances the line of too much and then, suddenly, he lets the slack out and sends them both reeling.

“Why do I even let you fuck me when clearly this is enough for you?”

As much as he wants, Osamu can’t refute that. Saying no never gets him anywhere fast- But he _has_ to because it isn’t true. It is- in the sense that, sure, if either of them really wanted it- anything Akaashi was willing to give him was enough- but it _wasn’t_ what either of them wanted-

It’s not even the damn toy. It’s the _time._ Osamu knows he’s a rather simple man with an even simpler-minded dick. Slap anything against him long enough and he’s bound to be able to make do with it. But he can’t try to explain that. Doesn’t think he could even if he tried. Cracking his mouth open feels impossible. Talking back, outright foolish. He’s just gotta take it till Akaashi’s had his fill- torn him down enough- moves on to whatever end route he wants to take.

“Well? Isn’t it?” 

Osamu’s brows knit until they start to tremble. He wants to close his eyes so bad. Get away from the infuriatingly calm way Akaashi stares right through him.There’s a harsh twist of the toy around him that has his mouth opening to choke on the pitiful attempt at speaking. He blinks through it, shaking his head in place of his voice. 

“No? So you think you deserve to fuck me then?”

“ _No_.” Throaty and caught between clenched molars; the sound that comes out is barely a word or rebuttal.

It’s a plea. And it’s the truth. He doesn’t. Feels like he never will. Akaashi exists as something near ethereal. It’s a shock every time their skin touches and Osamu’s hands don’t go right through him like he’s a stream of moonlight.

Akaashi abandons the sleeve where it’s settled low on his cock to curl fingers under his chin and press a thumb right below his lip. 

“That’s a shame.” Akaashi tips his head this way and that like he’s judging a dog waiting for it’s ribbon. “I think you deserve it.”

That thumb presses into his bottom lip, pulling it down, showing off his teeth and there isn’t a single thought that goes toward stopping himself from taking it into his mouth. There’s the faint, bitter tinge of lube and precome but it only makes his chest hollow out.

“You do it so well, after all.” Akaashi presses down against the flat of his tongue and Osamu’s lips close over the cool skin while he tries to suck it in further. “Don’t you want to?”

He nods, short and frantic.

The digit slips from his mouth just before there’s a wrench of the leash that jolts him forward right as Akaashi spits, “ _Speak._ ”

Truly, like a dog. 

“Y-yes.” The leash is still tight and he swallows with a dry click of his throat. “I wanna.”

When the leash is dropped to land against his chest, Osamu tilts back without the resistance. 

Akaashi starts to slip away from him and something urgent hurdles from Osamu’s racing thoughts all the way to the jump of his knees in a failed effort at following him.

He tries to speak, to call out, but the only thing that makes through heavy breathing is a hoarse “ _-ashi_ ” that seems to go entirely unheard.

Akaashi has already stood, stepped across the room, pulled his shirt off and dropped it to the pile growing by his duffel bag. Next go his pants, slipped and pushed by the nudge of a foot toward his ankles. When he turns, he has a smile that means he knows he’s being admired. 

Like that, Osamu is stuck. Watching. Waiting. Pleading within himself that Akaashi will wander back soon.

“ _Osamu-_ ” Long and drawn out like he’s being scolded or begged to come closer like he wasn’t just abandoned in a tied up knot on the bed. Osamu’s eyes lift. But he’s _stuck. He watches. He waits._ Akaashi’s head tips and that smile curls a bit wider. A little more cheeky. “It’s not polite to just stare like that.”

Trying not to say anything that will inevitably make everything harder for him, Osamu just huffs through his nose. Akaashi’s briefs are coming off slow enough as it is. Osamu doesn’t need to make things worse by running his mouth. 

Osamu’s gaze falls again, both ignoring the way he’s being goaded and getting distracted by the dark fabric barely being pushed down past Akaashi’s hip bones. There’s just taunting touches that skirt over his stomach, inching the waistband down before it slips back up when his fingers move away.

Despite his best effort, a frustrated sound leaves him. His arms press into the slight give of the rope, hands prying at the knots around his wrists. He just wants to reach and grab and claw.

Outside of these nights, Akaashi moves like an afterthought, always pressing himself into walls or trailing right behind people so as to take up as little space as possible. But when they’re alone and there’s nowhere to hide- no _reason_ to hide, he glows. His presence has always been distracting, but when he strips himself of everything that he uses to make himself small and deliberately forgettable, Osamu finds himself enthralled.

Tracked by the flutter of Osamu’s eyes, Akaashi moves back toward the bed. His steps are calm. His expression is lax and curious. Osamu doesn’t want to be observed. He wants to yank Akaashi forward faster, pull him down and press them together. His fingers crack with how tightly he twists at the rope.

Those briefs fall somewhere along the way, left on the floor and forgotten as Akaashi lifts one knee up onto the bed. He stops there. Arching just slightly toward Osamu, he reaches behind himself. His hips flinch and Osamu’s attention drops to them. A small but sharp inhale skirts through the silence before Akaashi’s hand comes back around with a plug nestled in his palm.

Osamu feels himself gawk, caught with surprise and offense at the dark, slick-shined silicone being tossed to the end of the bed.

“ _Oi_ , when d’ya do that?”

Bringing his other leg up, Akaashi lifts himself high, brackets Osamu’s hips with his knees, and lets his hands drift to pet over Osamu’s shoulders. 

“You were busy cooking dinner.”

“That’s not-“ He huffs, unable to really work through the biggest reason he’s opposing what’s already happened. 

“Stop pouting.” 

“At least ya coulda let me _watch.”_

One of Akaashi’s hands moves to run along the edge of his collar before slipping a finger under and using it to tip his head back. “You wouldn’t have lasted if I let you watch me. And you’re so whiny when I do it in front of you.” Knuckles brush down the front of his throat and he swallows against them. “Always complaining like it _pains_ you.”

“It does-”

“You’re entitled _._ ”

Determined, in his own opinion. His frown deepens. “Wanna do it-”

“Spoiled _,_ then.” Selfish, more like it. “And apparently you’ve forgotten your place.”

“Please-”

It’s a list-ditch effort that brings them both to a skittering halt.

Akaashi’s brow lifts, lips curving up like he’s pleasantly surprised to hear it. As if to mock Osamu- _Really? Begging already?_ It’s what he could say. And if he did, Osamu would probably whine again. But instead, Akaashi goes for something much worse.

He _laughs_.

Laughs and strokes over Osamu’s shoulders with a wry smile, “Come now, that was just _pitiful._ ”

It burns to hear. Osamu’s neck is hot, chest aching from the way his heart drops and his lungs empty out entirely. It really was the only option he had left before complete, embarrassing submission and it was entirely disregarded.

There’s a special sort of shame that takes over. A full body chill that makes him want to curl up and apologize for nothing at all. He bows forward instead, forehead landing on Akaashi’s chest to nuzzle against his skin as if asking for something as simple as a pat on the head. Usually, Akaashi would snap at him to straighten up. _Look at me. Listen to me. Pay attention to me._ But he lets Osamu have this every now and then. When he needs it, Akaashi gives him the lenity of hiding away just long enough to find his bearings among the tattered, ripped up shreds of his dignity.

But something seems to be in the way this time. Maybe it’s the fact that he was looking forward to the possibility of being untied and taking his time treating Akaashi right with the thorough work of his fingers. Even if he wasn’t that lucky, seeing it would’ve been more than enjoyable. Being able to follow the flush seeping from Akaashi’s cheeks all the way down to his chest. To stare at him gasp and writhe in the twisted, scornful way he both loathes and craves being watched.

No, with all that tarnished; Osamu feels almost manically forlorn.

“Please,”

He doesn’t even mean to mutter it again. It comes out like a sigh, brushed down the bony center of Akaashi’s collar like it could take root inside the dips of his ribs and sprout some sense of mercy between them-

It doesn’t.

“Please what, dear?”

Osamu’s exhale is a near wheeze. Akaashi never, _never_ , calls him that unless he’s on the brink of sleep or wholly, entirely pleased with himself. Unless he’s wearing that shit-eating smirk that rarely escapes for longer than a second. Osamu wants to look up just to see it. To have it ruin him even further- But there’s fingers in his hair now, scratching between the fuzz of his undercut and the top of the collar and he’s afraid to even breathe let alone _move_.

“I already did it. There’s no changing that-”

“Jus’ wantcha t’feel good.”

“I know.” His voice is soft- careful- and it’s as belittling as it is comforting. “I already do- but you’ll help me more, won’t you? You’ll be good for me?” A grumbly sort of affirmation falls from Osamu easily. Taken by the cheeks, Akaashi pushes his head back. “ _Osamu,_ ” The smile leaves his tone first before slipping off his face. “Was that an answer?”

Osamu’s chest heaves, the exhale puffing his cheeks into Akaashi’s palms when it’s forced out. “No-”

“No, you won’t be good for me?” 

“ _No-_ ” He knows Akaashi’s just playing his stupid games, but Osamu feels his brow scrunch up. He shakes his head and everything inside it rattles around just out of reach. Nothing settles long enough for him to make sense of it. “No, yeah- yes-”

One hand slips from his cheek to take him by the jaw and squeeze, “Which is it?”

“I am- I will.” It’s running on a loop. Compliance, deference- circling around his head and flooding out his mouth. “I will _,_ I will,”

“Okay.”

The hand releases his jaw, pets back across his cheek, but he can’t stop- 

“I will _._ ”

“I know.”

“I-”

“I _know_.” Voice a little more firm, Akaashi grips what part of Osamu’s nape that he can. Like scruffing an animal, he pinches and gives him a shake. “Calm down.”

Osamu’s words stop but his quick breathing refuses.

“You will be. You are. You’re good.” The other hand pushes his fringe back, combing through sweat and nerves with a gentle touch that has his eyes fluttering and his frame sagging. “You always are. My good boy, aren’t you?” 

Through the stretching crack of lungs against ribs and the deafening thud of his own heart beat, he nods. “Yours.”

“That’s right. But if I had known it would threaten you so much,” He laughs quietly, and the gathered bits of Osamu’s clarity seem to fray again with a curl of annoyance and bitter humiliation.

“Shuddup-” 

“ _Careful._ ”

Osamu’s eyes peek open to glare up at him but, distracted and overwhelmed, they get caught on the blotchy flush of Akaashi’s chest. Every rise and fall keeps his attention stuck until he leans forward, ignores the pulling stretch of his spine, and lets his mouth fall open. Tongue out, Osamu simply presses it against one of Akaashi’s nipples first before dragging it up and feeling the way he shudders. 

The hand in Osamu’s hair stills. Akaashi’s fingers curl in his short locks when he runs his tongue flat over the bud. But Osamu wants them twisting and pulling. He wants to feel the tingle across his skull, the way it trickles all the way down to his toes. So, he closes his lips around the nipple and sucks. Lightly at first but harder with every scratch of the nails on his scalp and the twitch of Akaashi’s chest toward his mouth. 

Osamu croons, low and deep and bordering on a moan that has Akaashi arching into it. Osamu’s lips pull back so he can grin and take the nipple between his teeth. It takes one bite and Akaashi’s grip on his hair tightens. The sharp tug only encourages his mouthing. He can’t get any closer, but Akaashi is pulling on his hair like he’s too far away. Osamu just wishes he could touch him- take him by the hips- wrap arms around him and hold him still. A hitched breath comes with another hard suck and the sound alone melts over Osamu with an embarrassing amount of heat. Osamu’s eyes close again and his shoulders roll and his hands begin to twist in the little bit of room he’s made from wiggling the rope looser.

His lips break from Akaashi’s wet skin only once they have to. Only once he’s being pushed back by a hand on his shoulder so Akaashi can pull himself higher and reach back with those cold, _always cold_ , fingers. Osamu hisses when they find his dick and wrap around it with their tickling guidance.

“What do you say?”

Whispered down into his hair, the question makes his scalp itch. Osamu shifts, tries to bring his hips up, but Akaashi moves with him like he has every action written down and memorized. Maybe, at this point, Osamu is just that predictable. His urgency. His rashness. Like glaring signs all leading to the chaotic end.

He concedes just as easy as he fights. His back bends again. He slumps forward and down floats Akaashi back into him.

“ _Please-_ ” Defeat, breathed out while a pinky traces idly over the tip of his cock.

Akaashi’s hum comes soft and satisfied from above him. Osamu’s looks up, finding nothing but the shadowed, blurry skin of Akaashi’s shoulder. He knows that sound and Osamu wants to see his smile, even if it’s only there to mock his unbridled willingness.

Leaning away- making a beautiful scene of it- Akaashi brings himself down in an easy, achingly smooth slide. Osamu has to actively fight not to let his eyes close. He can’t miss the way Akaashi’s head falls back and his mouth opens around a sigh and everything stills in the space between the heavy thump of Osamu’s heart.

Osamu never lets himself forget it; but stuck- captive- like this, it’s glaringly obvious.

Akaashi is gorgeous. 

Every second of every moment.

Osamu knows that he himself isn’t anything flashy. He tries his hardest to be nice, honest, polite when snark won’t do him any good- but no matter how respectable he is, surely he doesn’t deserve someone like this. A beauty. Carrying himself like something delicate and timid but holding a resolve that rages so fierce and vehement within.

Who wouldn’t want to covet this?

The sight should be enough to drive anyone mad. Especially when their hands are tied. Without any way to move.

Osamu’s wrists roll in the binds, arms pushing against them with a sad hope they’ll suddenly break.

“Keiji,” No response, not even a glance. Akaashi only pinches his brows together, rocks himself down again, and hums through some sort of a moan. “ _Keiji-”_ Osamu tries again. “C’mon,”

“What?” He’s breathless, annoyed and huffing back at Osamu in an echo. “What- _what_?”

Tongue between his lips, Osamu bites down on it just enough to shock himself back into focus. He claws at one of the knots on his wrist, fiddling with it and plucking at it with a desperate need to touch and take. 

“K-kiss me, won’tcha?” He almost wants to laugh at how pathetic that sounded. But if he can’t reach out for himself, he’s not above demeaning himself to pleading for a mere kiss. Not when he knows how much Akaashi loves that. How it makes him twitch and unravel. “I need-”

“ _Need?_ ” Akaashi’s snarl is vicious and it snags in Osamu’s throat like a gag. 

But high up and weary, Akaashi stills. He turns his gaze down while he teeteres, just barely shaking with restraint. He looks baffled and irritated. Kind of like he wants to complain, or like he wants an apology for such a ridiculous request. Osamu is so close to giving one, but then Akaashi spreads his knees and sinks low and close. Caught up in the rush of a groan, Osamu nearly misses the finger hooking on the inside of his collar until it’s dragging him forward. When Akaashi kisses him open-mouthed and unusually sloppy, Osamu is grateful for whatever grace is suddenly taking pity on him. His head is moved, dipped back, pushed and angled any way Akaashi pleases. He tries to keep up- really fucking tries- but his muscles hurt and his mind’s getting too fuzzy to do much more than let a tongue push into his mouth and flex his hips in return for every shallow thrust. It’s not a criticism- far from it. Taking charge- taking whatever he wants- always looks so good on Akaashi when he finally works up the gall to put Osamu right where he should be. 

It’s over too soon. Having the air sucked straight from his mouth. Akaashi indulging him directly is always a fleeting blessing. Osamu will take anything he’s given hungrily and happily. They both know it. So while the rhythm of Akaashi rearing up and gliding back down with a sticky smack grows too much for the rapturous closeness of another kiss, Osamu does his best to follow along.

He leans forward despite the strain and seeks out the bared stretch of Akaashi’s throat with his mouth. His shoulders pull back and forth, wiggling the ropes with little avail. He’s useless like this. Just something to play with. It’s heady- _frustrating_ . He pants against the rumble of a moan beneath his lips and writhes into the coils of rope. He wants to do something- _anything-_ other than sit back and let Akaashi fuck himself on his cock like he’s just an overgrown, blood-warm toy. He _wants_ to keep his lips against the skin there. It’s salty and alive but every time Akaashi lifts up, moving just out of reach of his tongue, Osamu wants to whine at the loss.

“Osamu,” Akaashi’s voice drapes over him so gently. Swaying back, his finger slides along Osamu’s bottom lip. It’s wet, slips over his chin, and the realization that he must be drooling settles heavy and hot along Osamu’s skin. Akaashi’s hips come to a slow grind while he drops his voice and leans in. “You’re making a mess.”

That makes it worse. 

Osamu feels himself flinch from a shiver. Helpless. Dazed. He huffs against the fingertip, trying to settle somewhere between fighting back and giving in. But Akaashi’s middle finger joins in and makes the decision for him. They go sliding over his lips and he accepts them eagerly, dropping his jaw, flattening out his tongue. They press down as much as they push in and his throat closes around nothing.

Akaashi can pretend all he wants with that constructed purr of disappointment and disgust. Osamu knows being reduced to a shuddering, thoughtless, pliant _mess_ is exactly how Akaashi likes him. So, he tries to forget how feeble the shame in his gut feels when he sucks at the first set of bony knuckles, when those delicate fingers spread and curl over his tongue, when he realizes spit is being pushed from the corners of his mouth so it drips down, slow and ribald. 

“ _Greedy,_ ” spat above him like he should be abashed. 

It rushes right to his head. His hips jump, feet twisting where they’re trapped between crossed knees and the sheets. It doesn’t do much. There isn’t a lot of leverage to be had in this position- and he knows that’s exactly _why_ he’s in this position; but he tries again just to spite it. To spite the nails jabbing into his shoulder and the sour curse hitting the top of his head.

“Shit, stop mov- _ah-_ ” The nails switch to a fist, pouding weakly into his collarbone. “-moving. _Stop it._ ” Driving his fingers further past spit-slick lips, Akaashi forces him to swallow just to keep from gagging. “Your squirming is as annoying as it is sad.” 

Osamu should listen. Listening would probably make Akaashi happier. Akaashi, who likes to do everything himself. Akaashi, who likes to bend people into following his wishes and somehow make it seem like their idea. Akaashi, who strangles any semblance of control in his fists until it cuts into his skin and leaves him weak and bleeding. Osamu probably needs to stop, but he always realizes that- eventually- he can’t. Because it’s when he doesn’t that he finally gets some sort of reaction other than quiet, muffled moans and the subtle sounds of someone that refuses to let themselves be heard.

Like that, they keep each other in check. It’s a balance, after all. One that is severely off-kilter when Osamu’s stuck like this.

He needs to get out.

He _needs_ to do better than this.

First thing, he closes his teeth in a bite until Akaashi slips his fingers out of his mouth. From there, they move quickly to grab Osamu by the hair and bend his head back.

“Please-” Osamu utters hoarsely through the protest of his throat before Akaashi has the chance to berate him.

Akaashi’s wrist turns, pulls Osamu’s hair taut. The sting makes his lungs empty with a groan.

“What now?”

He’s not happy. It’s clear from the short tone, how hard his grip is, how tense and forcefully constrained every breath is. Yeah, Akaashi’s not happy; but that doesn’t mean he isn’t enjoying this. He keeps shifting, clenching and rutting down like it isn’t even conscious movement.

Osamu takes his time. Running his tongue over his lips, he wishes he could wipe his chin off. A steadying exhale passes through his open mouth and the prickling silence works to temper his nerves.

Second thing, his hands double their efforts behind his back. The ropes are getting looser with every passing minute he works at them.

“I wanna-,” His voice comes out far less broken this time. “Wanna help, please-” 

“Help?” Akaashi repeats with the slight curl of a disbelieving laugh. “Not giving up on begging tonight, are you?”

“You like it.”

For whatever reason Akaashi decides in the constant whirr behind his slow blinking, he relaxes once more and his hands spread and move to press into Osamu’s chest. Akaashi’s anger usually settles as fast as it bubbles up- Or Osamu has found all the ways to calm it without really meaning to. Maybe that’s just the effect they have on each other. 

Still, Osamu’s words are disregarded. His fussing, blatantly ignored.

He wants to lean back into the headboard but the strain on his shoulders is a bit too much to push it. He wants to lean forward and get his mouth on Akaashi again, but the fingers on his chest are keeping them apart. They’re pushing down when Akaashi lifts himself. Then they’re gripping hard, trying to reach right in and close around Osamu’s heart as he drags his hips through a slow roll.

“C’mon, Keiji-” Near strangling the rope, Osamu pulls at it until it makes his skin hurt. But he can feel the knot inching open and the relief floods in. “Lemme touch you, please.”

“You don’t need your hands to fuck me.”

He sounds smug because he’s right.

 _Need_? No, Osamu’s done perfectly fine without them before.

But he’s buying time.

“I do.”

“You don’t _.”_

Just a little more time.

Akaashi is very talented at a lot of things. He is patient and diligent- both reasonably important qualities when it comes to the hobby of decorating someone’s skin with rope and ties. And yet- call it excitability or human error- he is exceptionally and consistently lacking when it comes to his knots. At this point, Osamu is beginning to believe he misses crucial loops on purpose. To provide an easy out. To provide a means for Osamu to slowly undo them.

“It’ll be better.” Osamu adds in, as if he could survive if this felt any better.

He just needs to put up with a little more fidgeting. More twisting. More pulling.

“Better for you?” Akaashi asks as he kneads the muscle beneath his palm.

“For _you_ -” He mutters with a concentrated knit to his brow. 

Sometimes, Osamu pretends not to notice the carelessness with which he’s restrained. He stays right where Akaashi fixes him until they’re done. But then _sometimes_ \- like tonight- like when minute after unforgiving minute feels too much and not enough all at once- he can’t ignore it. He’s strung out and aching. The need to touch and break is as urgent as every inhale.

“All for you-”

A loop opens up and the slack makes Osamu sigh from the release of pressure on his shoulder. One hand wiggles free and he closes his eyes. Tries to block out the sight in front of him, the heat dragging him further towards disarray. _Tries_ his damn near hardest focus on the other hand. 

It’s not easy, but Osamu can be as determined as Akaashi is ruthless. And with Akaashi taking his time, dragging things on and on, consuming his fill with hands and eyes- it gives Osamu just enough time to pick away at everything holding him back. The rope included.

He can feel from the way his fingers are sliding and curling under the knots that his skin is angry and covered with little divots. He’d been at it for a while and the burn left behind was proof of that. Akaashi wasn’t going to be pleased about any of it. The pain, the risk of hurting himself further, the fact that he’s not _supposed_ to undo them- but he can’t help it. Not when he can’t feel every pound of Akaashi’s heartbeat and every one of his cracked moans vibrate under his fingertips.

“Fuck, Keiji- everythin’s always for you.”

Pulling frantically, unthreading tie after tie- _finally_ \- he can feel it slipping. He tugs again and with one last swipe and shake, the ropes are falling from his arms. A hot throb shoots from each elbow to shoulder when he rolls them and brings his arms around, but he can’t stop. 

Eyes opening to the rise and fall of his ruined, remarkably temporal angel, Osamu reaches forward with frantic longing. The sound Akaashi lets out when Osamu grabs him by the waist and pulls him down fast and rough is a startled squeak that breaks into a whine when he struggles against Osamu’s hold. Huffing and reluctant, he settles with tacky thighs on Osamu’s crossed legs. His face has lit up with a brilliant flush, chest heaving, eyes wide and provoked.

“Osamu.” It’s meant to scold him. Convey the disappointment strewn across Akaashi’s pointed expression and within the harsh press of fingers into Osamu’s shoulders. Akaashi _wants_ to look pissed and to most he’d probably be doing a damn good job of it. But to Osamu, it’s just a miffed pout that he happily returns with a grin.

Akaashi’s chin tilts up, nostrils flaring for a deep breath. “Weren’t you trying to be good?”

Osamu’s head tips. That coupled with his smile is something he knows gets under Akaashi’s skin. It’s mock innocence. As if Osamu doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. What he’s done. His hands slide down, rounding the dip of Akaashi’s back as it arches away from his touch- further down until they’re sliding between the curve of Akaashi’s ass and his own thighs. Pushing up, fingers gripping his cheeks and spreading them, Osamu hums as Akaashi pulls that breath back in through his teeth while his body stiffens.

“ _Sorry,_ ” Osamu offers through a whisper. But there isn’t a bit of regret there. Not a single shred of a genuine apology while he gets to watch Akaashi’s long lashes dip low and his lips part around a gasp. “But if I’m no good, why’re you this tight all of a sudden?”

Osamu feels Akaashi clench, feels the heavy breath that leaves in a jump of his stomach. It’s purposefully embarrassing him but Osamu’s finally got just enough footing to bite back. It’s just a game of picking and prodding until Akaashi stops himself from slipping any more.

“Hey,” Osamu’s call is quiet but he knows it itches like the mild scratch of a thorn against a soft underbelly. Akaashi’s pride is what keeps him restless but the confidence it needs is thin as ricepaper. “Who’s in control?”

There’s a shaky sound that falls at the question.

Maybe he went too far. 

“I am.”

Maybe he didn’t go far enough.

Inching his hand in further, Osamu watches the draw of his brows and the tremble of his slack jaw carefully as he teases a finger along Akaashi’s stretched rim around his cock. There’s a shiver until he pushes further, dares to ask, “Are you?” When the tip of his finger nudges its way in and crooks, there’s a choked moan and knees squeezing his thighs and a flash of something ugly across a pained and desperate countenance all at once. 

But there’s a sudden jerk to the leash- he’d nearly forgotten it was there until he’s wrenched closer, shocked still, put in place. Akaashi’s hand twists and circles the leash a loop tighter around his hand. It shortens the slack and keeps an aching curve to Osamu’s back. His head tilts anyway, looking up from beneath the heel always looming overhead. Ready to squish him. Ready to hold him still. He finds simmering rancor in the depths of the gaze pinning him down. Bubbling, rolling, coming back to life. 

_There you are,_ Osamu thinks, leather digging into the back of his neck and ocean eyes daring him to swim deeper and deeper with one wave after another cresting in their dark glimmer.

Osamu’s hands pull back, fingers unsticking from sweaty skin. He lifts them, palms out in a welcome surrender. His grin falls to toss his ego at the feet of someone who already has him tied neatly around the tip of their finger. 

And even when that tie is placed in his own hands, Osamu doesn’t budge. The storm above him settles into a cool, balmy fog and the leash is dropped against his chest. Akaashi’s hands move fast. There’s a sudden click and Osamu flinches to look down, but the clasp is already open. Unhooked, the leash is flung to the floor.

It kicks up something worrisome in his chest that _no,_ he really had gone too far and ruined it. His breath runs short, hands balling up where they still hang in the air, eyes flicking back and forth between the floor and Akaashi’s downcast face. Osamu feels himself on the very verge of beginning to shake- but the collar stays and Akaashi isn’t moving away from him and then there’s a gentle touch to his wrist that brings it all back down so fast. His eyes follow as Akaashi moves that hand then the other to his waist. He presses them firmly against the subtle swell of his own breathing until Osamu’s fists open and his fingers splay. 

When Akaashi speaks, it’s with a tender evenness. Calming, albeit winded. “They stay here.”

Osamu nods easily and squeezes just a little to watch the way Akaashi’s skin dimples beneath each fingertip. His attention is lifted by a palm to his cheek. 

“Look at me.” Akaashi whispers like there’s ever any other option.

Eyes up, thumbs brush beneath them. Akaashi hovers over him- crowds him until there’s nothing else but the hands on his face and a voracious stare filling every bit of his vision. When the high degree of burning intimacy in their wide-eyed gazes becomes too much for either of them, Akaashi goes- somehow- even higher. His hands wrap around to cradle Osamu’s head, mouth pressing to his forehead first before going up into his hair.

Akaashi’s body sinks back into some clumsy rhythm- but he’s lighter now, settled like warm wings around them both- something that might just flutter away and evaporate into nothing but a breeze if it weren’t for the clutch around his sides. Osamu keeps him tangible. Keeps this something real and not just a hazy dream to satisfy their yearning. This- _Akaashi_ still feels like an incredible delusion. Or maybe a marvel, awe-inducing and as painfully tactile as it is something that shakes all the metaphoric nonsense wrapped up in Osamu’s skin and bone.

He is utterly defenseless when it comes down to it.

A captive at worst; a pawn at best. Smiling, breathing, living the whole way through it because despite the haunting threat of vulnerability- he doesn't want to be anything else.

Not when he’s this lucky. To get to hold this man. Feel him. Understand him. Know him inside and out.

Akaashi’s muttering above him, spilling strings of words between gasps and little whimpers he hides by nuzzling further into Osamu’s hair. Osamu wishes he could focus to hear them- wishes that maybe- every now and then- Akaashi would speak loud enough for it to sound less like a nervous prayer and more like outright reverence. But that’s asking too much of both of them.

“ _Samu-_ ” _That_ comes to him clearly. Spoken so hastily against his forehead.

He has no chance to ask or answer. The moment Osamu’s mouth opens to try, there’s lips in the way, a tongue pushing in, the burst of a moan when his legs strain against their binding to make his hips buck. Akaashi is there with his quiet, demanding possessiveness, licking into his mouth and swallowing down any air Osamu is willing to give him.

When Akaashi moves, it’s only to tuck himself closer, smear wet lips over Osamu’s jaw until they’re settled against his neck. Osamu wants to wrap his arms around him but his hands are glued in place by a strong will and even stronger need to finally do as he’s told. So they stay stuck on Akaashi’s hips to feel the roll of muscle beneath every vicious thrust.

Osamu knows he’s close- finally knows it without the threat of being edged _again-_ and then there’s an abrupt, stinging pressure of teeth biting into his shoulder that burns its way to his core. His back bows as much as it can with Akaashi clinging and shaking against him and he groans. The sound leaves him all cracked and tight but it only seems to make Akaashi bite down harder. It hurts but there’s something blinding about it and he can’t stop himself anymore. He comes with hot, ragged breathing against his throat and nails skittering across his shoulder blades. 

After everything, it’s hard to believe it to be over so soon. The rush leaves him in a charged daze, misty and jittering like a live-wire doused in water. There’s movement, rustling, but it’s distant and muffled. He wants to collapse. Pass out. Be smothered. Not move for at least a week. But he’s suddenly cold without Akaashi against him and then the clasp of his collar is undone and his eyes are blinking open. There are hands skimming over his arms in an instant. One is pulled into Akaashi’s lap, the chill of his touch soothing any of the burn left behind by the ropes.

“ _Holy shit-_ '' It's the first thing out and it’s a rough crack against Osmau’s tongue. There’s a jump to Akaashi’s breathing that Osamu knows as a laugh of sorts. He clears his throat with a cough before trying again. “Your knots could use some work.”

Head tucked down, Akaashi clicks his tongue and pinches the skin at the bend of his arm. “You’d been fiddling with them for nearly an hour.”

“‘Cause you’d been fiddlin’ with _me_ for nearly an hour.” There’s another pinch when Osaumu laughs, but then that arm is dropped for the other. “Thought my dick was gonna fall off.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Luckily.” 

“You’re lucky I’m not so cruel as to penalize you for not following basic requests.”

“ _Requests?_ More like commands.”

“Commands implies you don’t have a choice in following them.”

“Threatening a penalty doesn’t make it sound like a choice.” Osamu huffs another laugh and Akaashi’s scowl is on him in an instant. Osamu merely smiles back and pushes a little more. “Not like you had enough sense to penalize me anyway.”

Akaashi’s eyes narrow a bit and his thumb digs into the sensitive bone of Osamu’s wrist. A dull ache is settling into his limbs but something about it always feels nice. Something about the sting of Akaashi’s finger jabbing the thin layer of skin above his pulse hurts in a way that makes him want to grin.

“I just didn’t want to have you get all weepy when I made you stop again.”

“Yeah, right. Wasn’t ‘cause you were enjoyin’ yerself too much or anything.” At that, Akaashi drops his arm entirely. “Say, can you untie my legs for me?”

“Can I? Or will I?”

“Both?” 

“I don’t think I will.” Without a hint of compassion or mirth, Akaashi stands and begins his tidying. He tucks the bottle of lube back into the nightstand and starts to gather the rope in his hands. “You’re being combative. It shouldn’t be too hard- _Apparently_ my knots need work.” 

“‘Kaashi _-_ ”

“No.”

Rope bundled and tucked under his arm, he grabs the abandoned sleeve and plug and carries it all into the bathroom.

At first, Osamu hadn’t really had any sort of toys or _equipment_ of any kind; but slowly and with only mild discussion, Akaashi had begun to leave things here. And maybe Akaashi bought some for him. And _maybe_ Osamu bought a few on his own. Nothing extravagant and nothing too expensive, but he started to assemble his own little box of secrets he keeps hidden away in his closet per Akaashi’s suggestion.

He did his best not to think too hard about it. How willing and eager he’d become. How excited he could get in ways that surrounded the contents of that box and other, complete unacceptable, ways that had nothing to do with sex and far too much to do with just spending time together. He’ll ignore it as long as he can. Until Akaashi gets tired of pretending he doesn't notice and stops everything for both their sakes.

For now, that seems far off. And Osamu will happily let himself be strung along till the string is cut. He’ll worry about the consequences later.

The moment Akaashi steps foot over the doorway again, Osamu head falls back and he grouses loud, “But _Keiji-_ ”

“Stop that.”

“My poor, _poor_ , legs-” Akaashi stands over him with that bored expression that drifts lower to the bed. “They’re going numb. I’m gonna lose ‘em. This rope is too expertly tied, I’ll never get it off in time.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

“Is that what it’s called?” 

A sharp look is the only response Osamu gets before Akaashi tilts him back by the shoulder. His motions are practiced and quick. Bit by bit, it all loosens and Osamu finally has the room to stretch his legs out.

Petting over the rope’s imprint left behind, Akaashi purses his lips. It’s to keep from frowning, Osamu knows that, but he can’t help the way a smile threatens to break across his face. Akaashi always looks so- _amusing_ , all scrunched nose and wrinkled brow.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Not yet. Prolly a little sore tomorrow.”

“Your _stunt_ made the strain worse.” His statement comes with a firm press of his thumb into the red skin of Osamu’s thigh.

“I’m fine.”

The unconvinced hum that follows when Akaashi slips his hand away finally lets the smile creep up. “Would you like a bath?” But he’s already moving back toward the bathroom.

“Will you join me?”

A quick half-turn and an unimpressed lift of Akaashi’s brow brings Osamu’s smile to a grin.

“Will you refuse one if I don’t?”

“Why dontcha say no and find out?”

“All that and you’re still being contrary.”

“Thought I was bein’ patronizing.”

Akaashi’s sigh is heavy and exhausted but there’s a ripple across his lips of a fought back smile. He turns to hide it just as fast, steps quick through the doorway with a rush of, “I’ll start the water.”

“Sure ya can’t carry me in there?”

“Ah,” A loud lament shouted over the first sound of rushing water. “I’m suddenly too far away to hear you!”

Eventually, the beckon of his name pulls Osamu from the bed. A tingly weakness to his limbs carries him toward the warmth waiting between tub walls and Akaashi’s arms.

Osamu’s bath is hardly big enough to comfortably fit both of them, but they settle low in the water anyway. Back to Akaashi’s chest, Osamu can simply exist with closed eyes as hands run slow and soothing over his skin.

Sure, the sex is good- great- wonderfully devastating- but this is something else. His days are loud. The city, his job, his friends, his brother, his own head- all so _goddamn_ loud.

Here, the quiet is easy. 

It’s a gentle solace that Osamu has let himself get a bit too comfortable in. There’s a constant fight to remember the fact that neither of them have admitted things are far less simple than they once were.

They fit like this without effort or issue. Just a content closeness while the reality is, they’re not together.

They’re not, _not_ , together. 

Not together because they live too far apart. Work too much. Need too much from a relationship to call this one.

Not, _not_ , together because they live just close enough to speed back and forth. Work just enough that there’s still weekends and days off spent fumbling to get together. Need just enough from this arrangement- from each other- that it’s long since passed the limit of a hookup. 

He’d asked at some point. Some evening, or morning, or just on the break of dawn- _“Hey, ‘Kaashi, are we datin’?”_

Osamu didn’t mean to press him on it. Or make it seem like it was something too important. He’d learned bits and pieces of Akaashi’s past along the way; and Osamu could see beneath the pleasure and passivity that there was a hurt still needing to be mended. He wished the pull of his hands and every smile and laugh thrown out would heal it all. It was a fool’s dream; but somehow, he’d always had a knack for making foolish desires worth something. 

Luckily, the question hadn’t even seemed to startle Akaashi. Like he’d been expecting it. Or maybe preparing for it. His answer sounded rehearsed but Osamu was coming to respect the careful thought put behind each of Akaashi’s words like he’d already worked out ten routes a conversation could take before it ever began.

He doesn’t remember exactly what was said but it had felt blunt. Not painfully so. More like facts being laid out between them. It hadn’t hurt. There wasn’t anything discouraging about it- just honesty and sincerity that ended with a soft, _“So, no. We’re not dating.”_

And so, that had really been it. 

And so, it’s deemed something casual.

As casual as letting someone put you in a collar can be. As casual as making dinner for one another and clinging to each other on the couch can be. As casual as traveling hours, making plans weeks in advance, counting down the days just for a chance to spend a night together can be.

When his head rolls back and to the side, it thumps against Akaashi’s shoulder. Osamu lets out a sigh, deep and loose while fingers trickle water back and forth over his chest. Everything aches in their wake. Aches with wistful desire and the knowledge that past all the convoluted bullshit they tell themselves, this isn’t anywhere near casual. 

They aren’t together- so it’s been said. _But_ , in a lot of ways they are.

And in the ways they aren’t just yet, Osamu isn’t against waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter ♡ [ @scuttlebuttles](https://twitter.com/scuttlebuttles?s=17)  
> 


End file.
